


A Conversation By Firelight

by SLSmith22



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-06
Updated: 2016-08-06
Packaged: 2018-07-29 18:52:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7695484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SLSmith22/pseuds/SLSmith22
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A counseling session light on the talking....</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Conversation By Firelight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [whiskeyandspite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiskeyandspite/gifts), [drinkbloodlikewine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/drinkbloodlikewine/gifts).



> So I haven't written anything other than an academic paper in over a decade, so this probably sucks, but bear with me. The mistakes in grammatical mechanics are purposeful in attempts to achieve a certain reading rhythm. "Attempt" being the operative word. :)
> 
> Work is gifted to two wonderful people who constantly impress the ever living fuck out of me. Love both of you!
> 
> I feel I should also disclose that I wrote this while tipsy. And that I think red wine is a sexy fucking  
> drink.

It started with a glass of red wine. It started with Will noticing the drop in the corner of Hannibal's mouth. It started with Hannibal's fingers wrapped around the stem of the wine glass like a spider, like a surgeon, like the setting sun.

And Will couldn't breathe for a tick because he thought of those hands tearing him apart. Imagined those fingers cracking his ribs and crushing his heart and sautéing slices of his thigh in good Amish butter with a bit of cardamom and black pepper

Delirious laughter threatened his composure. It ballooned his gut, burned his chest. Cardamom! Black pepper! 

(Fuck, he was sweating....) 

And Hannibal's eyes were on him. On him, in him, through him....assessing, accepting, exposing. His eyes, that predator gaze, skinning him, stripping him of everything unnecessary. Unwrapping him down further than his bones, weighing his meat on an internal scale and maybe he'd said that part about the butter out loud because Hannibal's eyes strayed to the kitchen doorway.

.....and he tilted his head like a raptor honing in. Reptilian and robotic. Fuck. He turned his face like a goddamn curious cat, and then flicked the pink tip of his tongue out to lick that wine drop. 

He sucked it in, that bitter, that ruby red, that-oh, God, it looked like blood...

He drew his bottom lip in under his teeth, leaned forward and 

"Will". Caramel. Silk. Cigar smoke. 

 

And Will stared. Stared at that mouth as if it were the only thing keeping him on the ground, like it was fire and he was Prometheus.....the water to his dried and cracked gums. Fuck, he stared openly and rudely as those lips pursed and shaped his name again, the sound just smears and slurs outside of everything that mattered. 

Another sip, Hannibal's fingernails reflecting the fire and every sin Will had ever committed, and Will wanted those nails lined with his skin and tinged rust from his blood. He wanted those ragged confessions dug into his back, and curled around his hair...he wanted those teeth ending him. Fixing him. Completing him.

Hannibal swallowed, wiped his bottom lip with his thumb and stroked it across Will's wrist.

(Filthy. Obscene. Profane.)

It was like being electrocuted. Like burning alive and he stumbled to his knees in front of Hannibal and prayed the only way he knew how: with his face in the give of Hannibal's belly, violently stealing the scent of him. That musk, that salt and sandalwood, that otherworldly goddamn tang of darkness that made Hannibal his god.

"Will?" Fucking spun sugar. He clenched his jaw, closed his eyes and wrapped cool fingers around the back of Will's neck. And Will was almost sobbing, almost begging, almost fucking dying, and he moaned, clenched his hands around Hannibal's hips, tilted his head up and kissed wherever he could reach. Desperately. Sloppily. 

He sucked and kissed and wanted to bite the thin skin until it tore.  
He wanted to catalog the taste against the wine. Notes of coffee and cherries versus iron and copper. Off-centered sweet versus the pinpoint of life. 

"Please."

"Will."

"Hannibal, please". Twisting his fingers in his shirt, mouthing at his throat, staining his collar with salt water....

"Fuck..." His face shoved in the crease of Hannibal's thigh. Breathing, licking, nosing, doing everything possible to be as close as possible despite the God. Damn. Clothes. 

The hand at the back of Will's neck tightened, twitched, and Will watched in awe as Hannibal let his head fall back.

"William." Barely controlled breathing. Barely retrained want.

"Please, Hannibal." 

And he slid down Hannibal's body and curled at his feet; wrapped his body around those leather shoes that could cover the bride price in some countries and begged. A thousand pleas fell from his lips; unrestrained and broken, he begged without even knowing what he needed.

Hannibal knew. Hannibal with his razor wire mind knew what Will needed, so when he gently moved his feet and elegantly crossed his ankles to rest on Will's hunched back, Will keened. He keened and groaned and whispered his thanks and lay there, trembling, until the flames burned out.


End file.
